


You are the girl that I've been dreaming of

by dollsome



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, In a world where Supernatural has three female leads instead!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:46:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, three random scenes in the lives of Dee Winchester and Castielle. Featuring personal space invasion, pie, and fiery almost-death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You are the girl that I've been dreaming of

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've never been a big Supernatural watcher -- I tend to keep up with it via Dean/Cas fanvideos and tumblr gifs -- but I wound up writing this for a friend and sure, why not! AU genderswap action!

So, Dee is letting herself have like five minutes of me time putting on makeup in this skuzzy-ass motel bathroom – she swears, one day when her house is no longer her car (so when she’s dead, basically, but shut up, let her dream a little), she is going to have like the Buckingham Palace of bathrooms, like, let the whole house be a bathroom, she won’t care, bring it – when all of a sudden, there’s this faint caress of sound like the rushing of wings, and then, so close that she can feel breath on her neck:  
  
“Dee,” Cass says solemnly.   
  
“Dude.” Dee turns around and sure enough, there’s Cass, the most strange and precise kind of gorgeous (as usual), all up in her space. There are certain things Cass just does not understand about humanity, and personal space is like #1 on the list. Just between you and Dee, she would be a little sad if that ever changed. “Buy a girl a drink first.”  
  
“From where?” Cass asks, perfectly oblivious, and tilts her head. It is simultaneously ‘curious puppy’ and ‘freaky all-powerful ethereal higher being barely contained by its mere human shell,’ but Dee is getting pretty used to that vibe by now. “Are there vending machines nearby?”  
  
“Never mind, dork. Go on, ruin my afternoon of chillaxing with your tidings of big bad impeding evil. What peril have you got for me this time? Also: what do you think of this lipgloss? It’s called Skank Queen.” Dee strikes her best sexy goldfish pose.  
  
“It’s very inviting,” Cass answers after a moment of serious contemplation, because angels are weirdos, especially when it comes to matters of the flesh (ooh ahh). “Though you’re beautiful without it too.”  
  
“Inviting?” Well, she wasn’t expecting that one. (She decides not to even touch on the whole ‘beautiful’ thing.)  
  
“That’s the point, isn’t it? So that men will want to kiss you.”  
  
“You’re not a man. Though might I add that you’ve already acclimated swimmingly to the whole heteronormative male gaze mentality thing. Kudos.”  
  
“I’m not a woman either. This is merely a vessel.”  
  
“So is it gay when you call my lips inviting?” Dee fake ponders. “’Cause I feel like it’s kinda gay. I mean, let’s be real: those are boobs.” She waves a hand in Cass’s general breasty area. Girl got curves.  
  
“Jenna Novak was a woman. I have no gender identity,” Cass reminds her, and Dee thinks she can detect just the tiniest bit of annoyance around the stoic angel of the lord edges, “and no sexual orientation. So it’s impossible for me to be gay.”  
  
“Or straight.”  
  
“Or straight.”  
  
“Aw yeah, that’s what I thought,” Dee declares, busting out a little impromptu bump-‘n-grind action. No one spends enough time joke-dancing-up on angels. That’s probably why they’re such drags. “Impossible to be straight when I’m around. You know you wanna come to the Skank Queen party.”  
  
“You’re very difficult to endure,” Cass says, remaining obstinately still.  
  
“So personal space neglect is only okay when you do it?” Dee asks, knocking her hip against Cass’s.  
  
“Yes,” Cass says crisply.  
  
“Loser,” Dee says.  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
“I worry about you,” Cass says, after about two straight (or, you know, sexual orientation-less) minutes watching Dee from the other side of the diner booth.  
  
Aw, nerds. It is totally the-apocalypse-is-nigh feelings chat time. Great. Can’t a girl just eat what is very probably her last piece (or two) of pie in peace? This isn’t  _21_  by Adele. It’s okay to leave an emotional stone or two unturned.  
  
And then Dee looks up from her pie, and there’s Cass with her  _face_  and those god damn eyes, looking at Dee like she’s unquestionably the center of the world.  
  
Which, sucks to be Cass. Girl didn’t exactly win the center-of-the-world lottery there. Though you wouldn’t really know it, the way she looks at Dee sometimes. Most of the time.  
  
Aw, shit.  
  
“Me too,” Dee says to the tabletop. There’s a little bit of crusted old ketchup staring up at her. “About you, I mean. But it’s like – we can’t live like that, you know? We’re always going to be in big stupid heaps of danger, so what’s the point? We might as well just – give up on hoping and kill what we can when we can and eat pie. Especially pie.”  
  
“I meant the pie,” Cass says mildly. “And how often you eat it. It’s not healthy.”  
  
Oh.  
  
Right.  
  
“It’s got fruit,” Dee says defensively, and tries to fight down the urge to slam her head against the table a few times. A few dozen times. (The ketchup helps. She gets that it’s just old ketchup, but still. Ew.) What is it about this stupid angel that turns Dee into a nonstop stream of feelings vomit?  
  
“I suppose,” Cass says, eyeing the pie suspiciously. Whatever. She’s just jealous. “What about all the sugar? Sugar has its own demonic properties. I fear that if you keep on like this, the pie  _will_  kill you.”  
  
“Yeah, well,” Dee says, and takes a defiant and oh so delicious bite, “that happens, you can just grope me out of hell. Again.” She leans over and presses a loud, smacking kiss against Cass’s cheek. Restore the equilibrium with shameless flirtation; yeah, that sounds about right.  
  
“I wasn’t groping you,” Cass says, very prim and proper and steady of tone, her cheeks turning slightly pink. It’s so friggin’ cute. “It was business.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. You know you want a piece of this.”  
  
“Are you flirting with me again, or do you mean the pie?”  
  
“Whichever.” Dee shrugs.  
  
“The pie does smell very good,” Cass says, looking dangerously tempted.  
  
Oh, that’s a fun look.  
  
Yeah, Dee definitely wants to keep that one around as long as possible.  
  
“Girl,” she says, “come to the dark side.”  
  
“One small bite, maybe,” Cass surrenders.  
  
“Yesssssss!” Dee allows herself a little victory dance, then carefully sets to work getting the best forkful of pie that history has ever known.  
  
“Of course I worry about you,” Cass says after a moment, pulling Dee’s attention from her #1 forever boyfriend pie. “Ceaselessly.”  
  
“I thought angels weren’t supposed to have feelings,” Dee points out, trying not to sound too pleased.  
  
“They aren’t supposed to eat pie either,” Cass says with a dainty little shrug. The corner of her mouth tugs up, just a little. “You seem to have a strange effect on me.”  
  
“Well,” Dee says, and smiles back, “right back atcha. Now open up, and prepare for your world to get rocked.” She lifts her fork to Cass’s mouth, and okay, maybe, somehow, it isn’t the straightest thing she’s ever done. Not that there is anything inherently sexual about corrupting your angel friends with pie.  
  
“Aw,” Sam says, back from the bathroom and wearing that stupid ‘my sister and her angel girlfriend have a love too epic to deny’ expression of hers that Dee sees  _way_  too often, for the record. “The marrieds!”  
  
“Shut up, Sammy,” Dee orders. “This is serious pie stuff.”  
  
“You’re feeding her with your fork,” Sam points out. “It’s basically a wedding reception photo.”  
  
“It’s just business,” Dee says, and winks at Cass.  
  
Cass swallows.  
  
“Oh dear, that’s good,” she says faintly, looking flustered.  
  
Aw yeah.  
  
“I think you just got her off,” Sam says.  
  
“Go back to the bathroom, perv,” Dee orders, and throws a napkin at her adorable sister.  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
It’s a bad fight – not that they’re usually garden parties at Downton Abbey or anything. But this one; this is the kind of shit that does the apocalypse proud. Dee fights hard, and loses anyway, and wouldn’t you know, it’s just about the biggest relief of her whole life when her head slams against concrete and everything gives up to black.  _Sammy,_  she thinks, and then goes.  
  
She’s sitting by a lake, at the end of the dock. The trees are tranquil and October-orange, just barely swaying in the breeze, this faint caress of sound. Her jeans are rolled up to her knees and her feet are in the water. It’s not as cold as it should be. She lifts her feet up and down. Wiggles her toes. Enjoys the splish-splash like she’s a kid and it’s bathtime.  
  
Sam is waiting; Sam is waiting and Dee has to go back to her, and she knows that, she gets it, but.  
  
Five more minutes.  
  
There’s a movement next to her – not Sam, because that would be too easy, and this is never easy – and then there’s Cass, right beside her. Dee’s getting used to that.  
  
“Come on,” Cass says gently.  
  
“Do I have to?” She means to whine it, like a joke, but it just comes out sounding small and honest and weak.  
  
And there’s Cass, serene and divine and  _good_. She shouldn’t be mixed up in all this. She should be hanging out with a harp on a cloud somewhere. Dee knows that’s not how it really works, but – she wishes it did. For Cass, who deserves better than what they’re supposed to go back to. “Your choice.”  
  
“What if we just hung out here for awhile?” Dee pitches. It’s cowardly. She doesn’t care so much. “For, like, ever, actually? Come on, Cassie. Hike up that skirt and join me, huh? The water’s nice. And, hey: I don’t know if I’ve ever seen your bare feet. How weird is that? You drag a girl out of hell and rebel against your douchey angel brethren for her, but you never wear flip flops in front of her?”  
  
“I haven’t quite acclimated to the feet yet,” Cass admits. “They’re so odd looking.”  
  
“Everyone has weird feet. That’s why pedicures are a thing. I’ll paint your toenails sometime. Whaddya say?”  
  
“It’s a date,” Cass answers. Maybe she’s flirting with Dee a little bit. It’s about friggin’ time.  
  
“But I have to come with you first,” Dee double-checks. Uselessly. She knows. She’s just stalling, is all.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Dee nods. God, she wants to stay. The water is so calm and cool. Cass reaches over and takes her hand, entwining their fingers. Being touched by her feels a little like being pulled out of hell. Dee wonders if that’s the sort of thing that leaves traces afterwards. Or.  
  
“I’m so tired,” Dee says, letting her head droop – for a minute, just a minute – down to Cass’s shoulder. Shoulders that slim shouldn’t be allowed to feel this much like home. “I’m so tired all the time.”  
  
“Me too,” Cass sighs. For some reason, it makes Dee smile.  
  
Dee opens her eyes, and there’s the pain again, and the dark, and the blood in her hair, and she’s pretty sure that behind Cass, something is on fire. But there’s Cass, is the important part.   
  
“There you are,” Cass says, pressing two fingers to Dee’s temple like the motion itself is a kind of prayer; “Stay with me.”  
  
The pain lessens, turning everything clear, and Dee finds she can only think one thing:  
  
“God, your eyes are so pretty.” Okay. Maybe still a little woozy.  
  
“Thank you,” Cass says with a little smile. “Now, let’s save the world.”  
  
“Hell yeah,” Dee agrees, and lets Cass pull her up.


End file.
